


the astute traveller, gouging paths

by bubblewrapstargirl



Series: the lone traveller multiverse [15]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Roose is his own warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 06:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13630593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: Roose Bolton treads the battlements every night. Tonight he makes an effort to speak his mind, despite his well-earned reputation as an unsentimental man.





	the astute traveller, gouging paths

Roose stumbled across the boy on a routine walk through the crenellations. He takes a turn about the castle rooftops most nights, having always needed little sleep. His route varies, so as not to provide temptation to any enemy hoping to ambush him. Tonight he had started in the east wing tower, only to be hindered by the boy’s presence. This will not do.

Eyeing the boy, Roose wondered if there had ever been another occasion where they were alone in one another’s presence, without guards and servants and a hundred other ears, continually feeding rumours to the smallfolk. Still, Roose is loathe to give ground at the best of times; he was not about to do it in his own castle. He continued onward. Once he had approached further, Roose could see that the youth was wrapped in warm furs. Slowly sipping from a wine-skin. He supposed dealing with Ramsay would drive even the most patient man to drink.

“M’lord!” Podrick blurted in surprise, tinged with a little fear.

Roose knows he is an intimidating man. He is used to servants and bannerman alike growing pale in his presence. It is a marker of respect, he has always thought, that other men acknowledge his strength, and the bloody history of his ancestors. Somehow it is not a comfort now. Not when regarding the particular man before him. Because despite how unlikely it should be, Roose highly doubts this strange young man has ever been truly afraid of him. If he had been, Podrick would never have showed his face at the Dreadfort. There was a time when Roose would have fervently wished for such a circumstance.

Podrick must have known of him by reputation. Yet knowing what Roose was capable of, the boy persisted in this ill-fated venture with his bastard son. Despite how it irked him, Roose had a grudging respect for the evident courage that took. No man who valued his life would ever continue to defy Roose Bolton, but he did not believe Podrick to be a simpleton. Though he was apparently guileless. Roose would have been glad to have him as a guard in the household, under different conditions. But contrary to the laws of gods and men, this green boy was now living in his household and regularly sharing his son’s bed.

For a long time, Roose could not fathom how Ramsay did not grow bored of this soft creature. Roose could perfectly understand the urge to dominate a tall, broad bedmate. But such dalliances were for unwilling participants, who could quickly be disposed of afterwards. Not for live-in whores, who were paraded around like a prized horse, and invited to sup at the high table! Had it not been for Gwynesse, Roose might have protested more publicly. Though she had yet to be his lady wife then, a more sensible and worthy woman he had never met. She warned him that protesting would only lead to greater displays of defiance. Roose had allowed her to sway him in this matter, because Podrick was a humble sort of boy without being craven, and always mindful of his place. Futhermore, Gwynesse had never given Roose cause for regret.

Roose had never fancied himself the sort of man to be influenced by love. He had been deeply fond of Domeric’s mother, and it might perhaps have grown into a deeper affection, had she lived. Bethany had done her duty without complaint. More importantly, she never gave Roose cause for complaint or embarrassment. He had never anticipated the need for another wife, after she had died.

When Gwynesse joined the Stark household, Roose was startled to find himself deeply enticed by the Ironborn wench. She was firm and decisive, with a meticulous eye for detail. She had a notably profound sense of tradition and responsibility. Roose admired her lack of artifice and falsehood, regarding his pursuit of her. She did not seem offended in the slightest when he explained he could not offer the wealth and prestige that came with being Lady of the Dreadfort. Not until he was certain his line was secure. Once Domeric was wedded and his wife proved fertile, they would be free to wed. She had been satisfied with the reasoning behind his conditions, and they had rarely been apart since.

The sense of contentment Roose found in his second marriage was more than he believed could be possible. It brought him a greater appreciation for joint leadership. He could trust Gwynesse’s judgement absolutely, when it came to household management and wrangling his unruly sons. Gradually he asked for her input on disputes between his vassal lords, and was not disappointed. She had even managed to provide him with his only daughter, against all likelihood. Another member to his House that could be used to form alliances. The old gods had shown him great favour by placing his lady in his path.

Before he even noticed the time slipping away, years of cohabiting the castle with Podrick Payne had passed. Despite his misgivings, Roose could not deny that in most areas, the boy was a valuable addition to the household. He did not engage Roose disputes or open defiance, and the servants reported that he was always respectful when speaking about the family. His skill with Ramsay’s dolt of a son was extremely apparent. Somehow he managed to teach the child without coddling him.

Roose had unfortunately had occasion to cross paths with Robin Arryn, the most spoilt, disgusting brat in all the Seven Kingdoms. Roose would have gelded any boy of his blood that acted in such a manner, to ensure they did not pollute his line. After several painful weeks in the child’s vicinity at Rivverun, Roose gained a greater appreciation for the skill of childrearing. Even if Ramsay had thrown Podrick over for a new toy, Roose would have requested the boy remain at the castle, if only to continue his good work on Roose’s grandson.

But there was never a need, for Ramsay only seemed to grow more enthralled with the boy. Eventually, the truth about them spread. Roose had hoped his reputation for brutal retribution would have been enough keep such unsavoury deeds out of the limelight. But it seemed that even in this, he had been eclipsed by his nearly worthless son. When Ramsay learnt of a bard composing a tune at his lover’s expense, he had the fool dragged behind a horse to the Dreadfort. The man was afforded one last opportunity to sing his amusing ditty, before Ramsay relieved him of his tongue. There were no more public japes about them after that.

It is the fate of all men to be outstripped by their sons once they reach a certain age. Roose had always assumed Domeric would be the one to do so. Domeric was certainly fearsome, and had garnered an impressive reputation on the battlefield. But there was a kind of manic glee in Ramsay when he was inflicting pain on others. He had been the most feared man in Robb Stark’s army, and there were very few men left alive that had ever given him grievance. Roose might have known it would take a special sort of man to gain his son’s attention and hold it, and yet he found himself constantly underestimating Podrick.

Even now, the boy surprised him. Rather than immediate retreat, his usual method when faced with potential conflict with Roose, Podrick instead offered him the wineskin he had been lately drinking from.

“It’s not wine,” the boy assured him, knowing as well as any other, of Roose’s aversion to drink that dulled the senses.

Intrigued by the offer, Roose accepted the skin. Soon smelling that it was filled with rapidly cooling tea. He took a deep drink, reveling in the instant flush of warmth it brought to his throat.

“Unable to sleep?” he asked slowly, as he took in the cold clear sky, which was peppered with tiny twinkling stars.

If Podrick was uncomfortable with Roose’s attempt at idle chatter, he did not show it.

“No, my lord,” he denied, “It was Merik who was having trouble sleeping. He’s soundly asleep now. I thought I might take a turn about the ramparts to wear myself out before returning to bed.”

It was perhaps the most the boy had ever said to him. Taking a seat on the low stone wall beside him, Roose returned the wineskin.

“You are good with the boy.” Roose stated, his voice devoid of flattery, as always. It was a simple statement of fact.

But Podrick did seem shocked then. Though Roose doubted that had less to do with the content of words, than the person that was saying them. Irrationally, he was irked that it should be so. He had been extremely accommodating by allowing Ramsay to keep his lover. Podrick must have suspected there was a motive behind it. In truth it was not wholly due to his work with Merik, who was still a simpleton, and would never amount to much of note.

“Did you ever wonder why I did not have you skinned alive, when my son brought you back after the war?” Roose asked casually, grimly pleased when Podrick stiffened immediately.

“I tried not to, my lord.” He answered at length. “I find nothing good comes from assuming a man’s reasoning, without the relevant facts.”

“A sound philosophy.” Roose acknowledged. “I will not deny that your presence here was an embarrassment to my House. An affront to my legacy, and a son’s effort to shame his father.”

Wisely, the boy said nothing.

“I am not a sentimental man,” Roose stated tonelessly, and fixed the boy with a shrewd look. “You know that to be true?”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Good.” Roose nodded decisively, taking to his feet to return to his customary walk. Gwynesse’s sleep-warmed skin beckoned him at the close of it. He made sure the boy was looking directly into his cold blue eyes, when he imparted his final words:

“Then you will understand what it means, when I say that your contribution to this household has been invaluable. And the impact you have had on my son has been immeasurable. There was a time when I believed my bastard was no better than a mad dog. That is no longer the case; because of you.”

Podrick’s jaw moved silently, hanging open for a moment, before Roose turned and began to walk away. Still, he did not think it was only the wind that called out; “Thank you, my lord!” at his retreating back.

**Author's Note:**

> *throws more Boltons at you and runs away*
> 
> I'm addicted, omg. This is for all of y'all that were probably secretly wondering how Pod would still be alive when Roose. exists. but were too polite to comment on it.


End file.
